


Here Comes The Sun

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James didn’t wake Lars this time with his nightmares, thankfully...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Comes The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Ghost BC's cover of the Beatles song. Set in 2004 - 2009, couldn't decide on an era.

James didn’t wake Lars this time with his nightmares, thankfully. He eased himself out of the bedroom, down the stairs and to the kitchen, forcing his shaky hands to take the orange juice inside and pour himself a glass. Then another. Another. 

On the third glass, that ugly voice popped up and said, _It’d be good with some Southern Comfort, wouldn’t it_ , and he put the orange juice away after that. 

The cool air felt good on his clammy skin when he walked down the marble steps and to the patio. He sat on one of the wicker white chairs, elbows on his thighs, taking deep breaths. 

With the moonlight out, the Pacific shined, just like the lit-up San Francisco skyline. Eventually, the fog rolled in, eating up what he could see of Golden Gate, and his body no longer felt good in the cool weather. But he couldn’t go to bed yet. Not until that voice was dead again. Dead enough.

More fog seeped into the Bay. Little to no cars crossed over Golden Gate or the Bay Bridge. His body shivered as the temperature further dropped, and the wind picked up. The palm trees rustled. He rubbed his palms over his biceps. 

And then: _Vodka’ll warm you right up._

He put his head in his cold hands. 

_Go away. Shut up. Leave me alone._

His fingers pulled at his hair. 

_JUST SHUT UP._

“James?”

He jerked his head up, turning around in his seat. 

Lars finished walking down the steps, wearing his own robe. His hand slipped off the stair’s railing. “It’s four in the morning. What’re you doing out here?”

“Nightmare.”

In the moonlight, Lars’s eyes shined. “Min skat…”

He looked away as Lars walked over. Warm hands fell onto his bare shoulders. He heard clothes rustle, and Lars’s breath fell over his cheek. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” 

James shrugged. 

That voice snapped, _Because you’re weak._

A hand slid up the curve of his shoulder, over the back of his neck and into his hair. His eyes slowly shut as they massaged his scalp in gentle rubs. 

“Talk to me.”

“I’m fine.” He winced at the strain in his voice and coughed, clearing it up. “Just a stupid nightmare.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The hand in his hair rubbed the back of his head. Soft lips kissed his cheek. “Okay.” Lars’s nose brushed over the skin he kissed. “Do you want to go inside?”

“Not yet.” He leaned into Lars’s moving palm. “Need a few more minutes…”

He felt Lars’s other hand fall over his knee. “Can I stay with you?”

His own hand fell on top of Lars’s. “Yes.”

Lars’s hand turned under his. Their fingers weaved together and squeezed. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep. When he woke up, he found a thick blanket wrapped around his body, a San Francisco sunrise, with the pink and purple hues painting the sky and Golden Gate turning an actual gold in the light—and Lars sitting next to him in a wicker chair too, head lolled back and turned to him, with a matching blanket around his legs, and their hands still twined on top of his knee. 

James lifted his free hand up to touch Lars’s cold cheek. His fingers traced the jawline, down to his chin, a thumb sneaking up to rub Lars’s bottom lip. 

His lips closed. His nose scrunched. From this close, he heard a soft whimper, and then, the eyes fluttered open. They blinked repeatedly. They focused, they settled on him, and the chapped lips curled up, showing a bit of teeth. His personal sunrise. 

“Hi.”

James rubbed his bottom lip again. “God…”

“What?”

“You. You stayed.”

Lars chuckled. “I asked to, didn’t I?” 

“But… I didn’t think—”

“James, stop.” Lars squeezed his hand. “I love you. I will not leave you alone. I might’ve learned to back off but I will _not_ let you suffer through anything alone ever again. You understand me?” 

His vision blurred. “You knew.”

“Of course I did. But I wasn’t going to push. It’s up to you when you want to talk to me, and I’m not about to force you into anything.” Lars’s thumb rubbed James’s skin. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

He nodded his head yes. 

“Good. Because I need you to, James. I need you to come to me, so I know you trust me. Okay? I don’t want you bottling shit up again. I don’t want you fighting alone. You’ve come so far from where you were before, and no matter what you think, I _know_ you won’t fall back into those old patterns again.” Lars’s eyes shined. “You’re the strongest person I know, James. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. I won’t judge. I won’t even say anything. I’ll listen. I’ll do anything you need to help you. Okay?”

James bit down on his lips. He nodded again. 

Lars’s watery smile matched his broken whisper. “Okay then.” He looked away, using his free hand pull the blanket from his legs, then pushing up from the chair. 

When Lars stood up, he stopped in place. He looked down and found his hand still in James’s, on top of James’s knee. 

Their eyes met. James pulled Lars to him. 

Lars closed the small distance between them.

Standing between James’s legs, Lars whispered, “James…?”

James smiled, finally let go of his hand. 

His arms weaved around Lars’s waist. His cheek pressed to Lars’s belly, the knot of the robe’s sash pressing against the hollow of his throat. 

Hands rested on top of his head. Fingers slipped into his hair. 

A palm slid all the way down to the back of his neck. A thumb rubbed behind his ear. 

The other hand made small circles over the back of his head. 

James’s eyes shut. He squeezed Lars’s waist. 

“Thank you.” He took a long breath in. The shaky exhale blew back against his face. James swallowed hard, tears burning under his lids, and he whispered again, “ _Thank you._ ”

Lars squeezed the back of his neck. The other hand on the back of his head pressed James deeper onto Lars’s stomach, the knot pushing against his throat. 

“Jeg elsker dig, min skat.”

They went back inside before the sky turned blue. And in the safety of their bedroom, with his head laying on Lars’s lap, and Lars’s hand smoothing over his hair, James finally told Lars what happened.


End file.
